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Journal 1: The Long Journey
>>>The Long Journey<<< Journal Entry # 1: It has been 5 weeks since I've been alone to my thoughts, save when I have been asleep. Even then, I am not alone. My dreams continue to be plauged; by faces unfamiliar, and the same a'cur'ssed beast.. I think him to be a wolf.....I've never seen one, in the flesh. I lost my cool, a fortnight back.. I have had time to reflect on the matter, since; as I have recovered from my injuries, sustained in that sorry narrow, hydra-forsaken, cutout of a chamber. Twas my favorite pelt, after all.... And those skeletons ripped her to shreds.. How my blood did boil..... I think back to that night, and though i would never speak these words aloud, least not to my companions; I feel ashamed. I put everyone's safety out of my mind. And hence put my companions in danger.. 'my companions'..................... !My friends!. Strange word that is, friends. I can't remember ever using it... Strange word indeed. Journal entry #2 It has been weeks since we left the Hambiri. And the road since has been long.. I am very pleased to be able to call Silvara my friend.. Were it not for Sil, I would not have been able to keep up with the group, plain and simple.. a prowess for healing combined with an innate selflessness; if only I could be so grossly incandescent..... I miss the old fort, and it's proud peoples; particularly Zifor. I learned alot in my short stay amongst the desert dwellers. From a survivalist standpoint; I studied new knots and braiding techniques for ropes and fiber. On a personal level, I learned humility and to take pride in one's work; work for a collective good.. I learned about love. Love for the family one chooses, as opposed to the family one is born into. It seems to be a repeating theme.. I write this on my last night watch. Tomorrow, we make our final leg towards civilization.. Killborn and his companions in tow. Sitting here, thinking over the snores of my companions; I realize, I might have found what I have always been searching for. Family. Or, at the very least, something like it. Journal entry #3 Civilization! How good it is. A river to bathe in and a comfy tavern. I couldn't ask for more! Apparently, Edgepoint would normally be more bustling but we arrived in a time of great fear of the ongoings in the mountains. I'm kind of glad for the fact, any more busy and discomfort might have set in. Long time since I've been surrounded by so many beings. Still it's an eclectic bunch here at Edgepoint, my crew fits right in. The weight of coins and gems in my pocket is an unfamiliar feeling. The first few days I kept stopping to investigate the source of the clinging that haunted my every step, only to find that it is the currency in my own pockets. While Brom works diligently in his rented workspace, Sylvara and Gertrude seem to be growing more irritable and impatient every day... I understand the need to move, I have always been a nomad. But I also understand the need to stay in one location, to use and/or exhaust resources, before moving on. Plans are being made, after all. And the Hambiri, Edgepoint and ourselves may just benefit from it. I have spoken with Syl over many a flagon, I don't know that she sees through, but it is of no matter. The long game is on. ... I spend most my days in meditation. Kilbourne has taken his men on another hunt, and I am taking full advantage of his trading space and barracks. Once Brom has his fill of ammo, if that day every comes....we take leave for the mountains. For the ghouls that likely sit within. Hurry Brom! My new longsword needs a baptism. In blood �� Journal Entry #4 It feels like a solid week has passed! ... I have to actively remind myself that I was within Edgepiont not two days ago.. Brom and I have taken first watch, on the quest to find the source of the ghoul's that we encountered in our earlier travels.I know we are nearby the source, though i fear we backed our way into resting within dangerous proximity of a plausible onslaught. Any moment now. . . For the sake of being truthful to myself, im going to acknowledge that the only reason i am writing within this notebook, currently, is to escape the fact that i am sitting around a dimly lit fire with a man whom i fear i do not trully know. It's been slightly over half a hour since his head has moved from a tilt towards the stars. Brom... I can say now, for certain, i would know the sound of his gun's over a mile away: before i recognized his voice in a slightly croswded room. If i didnt know better, i would say there was intention behind the silence. All i can see is loss.. The few times i have had the opportunity to meet his gaze, his eyes look right past me. If only i could see the world as he sees it. I might be able to bring him back to reality. at least as i know it. Journal entry #5 "An Orange Dawn" The nomads were experts in tracking and hunting and moving across any terrain. I am starting to understand that thier skills came by no feat of luck, but rather through experience. The days we've spent tracking through the Ridge have been testing. The prey elusive, thier tracks temporary. I've spent the last few hours watching the most beautiful black panther, her belly well full, walking along the edge of what must be her territory. She is well aware of our presence, but has yet to pay us any mind. Our bellies lay empty, save for rations from our bags.. A bag of holding they call it.... tis no cooler, nor substitute for a fresh catch... the little meat I have caught goes rancid within a day of storage. ......The great panther knows her grounds; I have only begun the study them as such...... I was speaking with Syl whilst laying camp. There lies an underlying want, amognst our collective, to continue up the ridge towards the source of our most recent (ghoulish) encounter... And I am laden with fear.. Not of what might lie ahead. No... Fear of myself. I could very well justify the tears of the late necromancer, even the fouling of his blood wife; ..at my own hands. Twas the nawing want to hurt this random being, well beyond rational, that has instilled a fear of myself. A fear far out-reaching anything that might lay in these mountains. . I've never been one for prayer, but as the sun begins to lay a bright orange glow over the top of the Ridge under which we laid camp, I look down at this old medallion and cannot stop repeating, "old gods and the new, give me strength"